Into Depravity -II- Book One of the Tales of the Fourth Age Series
by Silverhand19
Summary: While traveling through the Dead Marshes Gollum told Frodo about his past before the Ring. Now, three years after the War of the Ring, Frodo sits down to write the story in the Red Book in the hopes to give anyone who reads it a different perspective on the sad life of Smeagol.


**Into Depravity**

 **By**

 **Silverhand19**

 **Authors Note**

I do not own the rights to any of Tolkien's work or any of his characters. As a fan of Lord of the Rings, and being inspired by it, I have written original content using the framework already laid out.

The concept presented in this story is of my own creation and is not a part of the original storyline, though I have written it to fit within that.

 **TRIGGER WARNING:** reference to abuse, murder, character death, serious trauma, and suicide.

I hope you enjoy!

 **Part One**

Frodo wandered down the halls of Bag End same as he had these past three years until he found himself standing before the book he'd been working on since they had returned to the Shire. He finished writing the tale of the Lord of the Rings just yesterday, but there was still one more story that was nagging at him. One more story that needed to be told. It would not change history, but perhaps it might give it some clarity.

He got a fire going to chase off the November chill, refilled the inkwell, and sharpened the quill as he had done countless times before. Once he was ready he gently opened the book up to the first blank page and pondered how he would start it. Finally, he picked up his quill, dipped it purposefully into the ink and wrote:

 _Into Depravity_

 _By_

 _Frodo Baggins_

Some people know the story of the creature Sméagol during the War of the Ring and his part in it. Indeed, it is written down in this very book; but there is more to the story of Sméagol and how he became what he was.

This is his story.

It all began along the banks of the Glanduin in Enedwaith, south of Moria, in the year 2420 of the Third Age. Two Stoorish hobbits prepared for a long journey eastward to the home of their forefathers. These two hobbits were Sméagol's mother and father. Truly, so much has happened to that poor creature that he could not recall their proper names. They were spoken of simply as Mother and Father.

Mother and Father were newly married and wished to see the land of their ancestors and planned on raising a family there. Taking the Redhorn Pass they arrived and settled along the Gladden River, at the base of the Misty Mountains. They planted a garden and fished the river and spent many years happily living there. But sadly that was not to last.

In the year 2430 of the Third Age Mother gave birth to a baby boy they named Sméagol. A darkness seemed to settle on her shortly after the birth and Father placed the blame squarely on their son. Father took to traveling for months at a time and returning for a week or two before setting out again.

"Poor Sméagol, we was so alone. Father beats us, tricks us when he was there. Father blamed Sméagol," were his words as he recounted the tale to me.

Sméagol spent many days talking to himself along the banks of the Gladden as he tossed rocks and dug around for treasures and trinkets. He pretended that there was a stronger version of himself that would protect him from Father's wrath.

This continued on for many years.

When Sméagol was turned thirteen years of age, Mother had recovered some from the darkness that had settled over her. It is not to say that she never did anything while the darkness was heavily upon her, for she was still a mother. But rather the joy was robbed from her and happier moments were fleeting.

Mother decided that she would make up for some of the lost time and throw her son a special birthday party. Father was away on his travels but she sought to make the best of it.

It was just the two of them the night of Sméagol's party and she made a dish of steamed fish with herbs and vegetables from their small garden. It was one of his favorite dishes. When they had cleaned up Mother produced a small box, neatly wrapped, and handed it to him.

"What's it got in the box?" asked Sméagol gleefully.

"Something very precious to me," Mother whispered, smiling gently.

The boy eagerly opened the box and saw a beautiful gold ring: it was Mother's wedding band.

Sméagol smiled at Mother, for it truly was beautiful.

"You must keep it safe for me," said Mother softly.

Sméagol nodded vigorously, grinning from ear to ear.

Mother slipped the ring onto a thin strip of leather and hung it around his neck, then placed a gently hand on his cheek. "I love you, my son."

It would be Sméagol's last happy memory with her.

A few weeks later she slipped back into the darkness that was worse than before. Then one morning she was gone altogether. All that he found was a note left beside her bed.

 _Where rock and pool,_

 _Is nice and cool,_

 _A place to dip your feet._

 _Where we wish,_

 _To catch some fish,_

 _So juicy sweet._

 _There I go to lay my head,_

 _Until again we meet._

Sméagol recognized the song that Mother would sing when they went fishing over the last few weeks since his birthday. There was a special fishing hole they went to that seemed to have a never ending supply of fish, so he suspected that's where she must be. He rushed to dress, grab his fishing pole, and head out the door to meet Mother.

When he arrived he was horrified to see her face down in the pool, unmoving. Sméagol jumped in screaming and crying, but he knew, without doubt, that she was dead. Panicking, he clambered out of the pool and rushed back to their home. He burst through the door and suddenly collapsed onto Mother's bed and wept. He held onto the ring she'd given him as his cries of anguish and despair rang throughout the woods.

' _Sméa-gol. Why does it cry, Sméagol?'_

"Sméagol is all alone. Only Mother's precious is with us," mumbled the boy softly.

' _Poor Sméagol,_ ' crooned the voice in his head. ' _We will look after you now._ '

A few weeks passed after Mother's death before Father returned home. Sméagol ran to him, hugging him and sobbing as he recounted what had happened. Father threw him off and rushed to the pool to find her, but her body was gone. The Gladden had taken her.

When Father returned Sméagol could see murderous intent in his eyes and he cowered in fear. "You killed her you little beast!" Father roared as he grabbed Sméagol and lifting him up and throwing him against the wall.

As he hit the wall and fell to the ground Mother's ring popped out of his shirt and hung there, gleaming in the light of the small fire burning in the hearth. Father's eyes locked onto it and madness took him. "Give that to me, my love," said Father, holding his hand out.

Sméagol clutched the ring. "It's my birthday present," he whimpered, "It's my precious now."

"It's mine, my own!" bellowed Father, charging his son.

Sméagol was faster and dodged his father's attack and bolted outside as rain started to pour down. Within minutes he found himself standing before the pool where Mother had died. He looked down into the dark waters as lightning flashed, illuminating Father's figure behind him. Sméagol screamed in terror as Father grabbed him by the neck. With one hand Father held him by the throat and with the other ripped Mother's ring off the leather strip and held it before his eyes.

For a brief moment the humanity returned to Father's eyes as he remembered happier times. But the madness quickly returned as he said, "If I cannot have her, then neither shall you!"

Sméagol watched in wide-eyed horror as Father threw the ring into the river, just beyond the pool; the ring made a soft _plop_ and disappeared. It was then that something in him broke. He became something else entirely.

With a strength not his own he kicked Father in the shin and bit his hand. Father yelped in pain and dropped him. Sméagol quickly stood and faced his father. "That was my precious!" he screamed, the lightning flashing again as he pounced upon Father with a vengeance. He wrapped his hands around Fathers throat and squeezed.

Father tried fighting back, smacking Sméagol with a bloodied hand, but he couldn't overcome the surprising strength his son had suddenly tapped into. Before long, he ceased to move.

When Sméagol was sure he was dead he dragged Father's body down to the pool and pushed him out into the river. No one would ever find him.

Try as he might, Sméagol could not find Mother's ring. In a fit of rage he rushed back to their home, grabbed his belongings, and then used the fire in the hearth to burn their home to the ground.

Sméagol knew of a small settlement to the east, closer to the mouth of the Gladden River where it met the great river Anduin, and he set off for it amidst the storm.

After three days of travel he finally collapsed at the foot of a door late one night, finally succumbing to exhaustion and grief. As it would happen, it was the door of the Matriarch's house, the leader of the village. She found him the next morning and took him in as her own and nursed him back to health. She raised him as her own son and he lived with her and grew to see her as a mother.

He soon met her nephew, Deagol, and they become life brothers. Where one went, so the other would follow.

Time rolled on and Sméagol grew up trying to forget the horrors of his past as best he could. He never shared any of what had happened to anyone. But the ghosts, it seems, would not allow him peace.

On his thirty-third birthday Deagol wanted to take him fishing to a hidden spot on the river where it was rumored all of the biggest fish were at. Having a deep love for fishing, Sméagol agreed without hesitation.

As fate would have it, Deagol did indeed catch the biggest fish which quickly pulled him overboard. "Deagol!" Sméagol yelled, trying to spot his friend.

He looked around frantically for him and paddled to shore. He jumped out and run down stream and continued yelling.

After a very terrifying moments Sméagol heard splashing and spluttering further up the bank and in a flash turned around and headed towards the noise. He found his friend hunched over cleaning something off in the grass. "Deagol?"

Sméagol came up behind his friend and peered over his shoulder to see what was so interesting. His breath hitched at the sight of a simple golden ring.

"Give us that, my love," whispered Sméagol, his heart racing. Surely this was Mother's ring!

"Why?" Deagol asked, eyeing his friend.

"Because, it's my birthday, and I wants it," Sméagol replied, eyes fixed on the ring.

Deagol stood and faced Sméagol. "No, it's mine. I found it. Besides, I've given you a present already."

Before Sméagol's eyes Deagol seemed to change and morph until a spitting image of Father stood before him. Long buried emotions came surging up to the surface from that horrible night some twenty years ago; rage erupted from the dark recesses of his mind like the flames of Orodruin.

Sméagol lunged at Deagol and within moments was on top of him, hands around his throat, squeezing until Deagol went limp. He quickly reached across the lifeless body and gently picked up the ring, gingerly holding it before him. Tears streamed down his face as he whispered, "My precious."

He slowly slid the ring on his finger, and as he did the whole world changed before his eyes: The world became grey and ethereal. His every sense awakened to a level he'd never known before. As he turned and took in this strange new world he saw a figure standing a stone's throw away from him. They began to walk towards him, and as they drew closer he could see that it was Mother!

Sméagol found himself unable to move as Mother came to stand in front of him, smiling. "Hello my son," said Mother. "I see you have found my ring."

He suddenly felt thirteen again and beamed as Mother wiped away his tears. "You must keep it safe for me until I return," Mother said, looking intently at the ring on Sméagol's finger.

"Good Sméagol does as Mother says so," he replied happily.

Mother grinned. "Good boy. Now, we must take care of your friend here."

Sméagol looked down at the one he'd once called brother and then to Mother. "What does Mother wants us to do?"

Mother's eyes became cold. "Throw him in the river.

"Good Sméagol does like Mother asks us," said her son obediently. He began to drag the body of Deagol to the river and rolled him down the banks before returning to Mother.

"You must tell no one about me and especially not the ring. It's my most precious treasure," said Mother gently.

Sméagol simply nodded.

"Good boy. Let us discuss what you will tell the others about what happened to poor Deagol…"

The whole village mourned the loss of Deagol in the days that followed. Poor Deagol had fallen out of the boat and try as Sméagol might he could not find him to save him. He wept bitterly and could hardly be comforted, preferring to lock himself in his room and be alone. Everyone knew he blamed himself for what had happened. No one suspected that poor Sméagol could have done such a terrible thing. Not at first, anyway.

Strange things began to happen in the village a few months later that carried on for the better part of a year. Many hobbits that lived there spoke of feeling like someone or something was watching them, or following them. They would he whispers behind them, or soft footsteps alongside them. Some began to think that an evil spirit was haunting them.

A year after Sméagol found the ring he was out following instructions from Mother. She'd said someone was starting to suspect that he was behind the strange happenings the hobbit needed to be dealt with before he exposed them.

It hadn't taken long for Sméagol to figure out that people couldn't see him when he wore his precious, and under Mother's guidance he learned to be stealthy, and kill quickly. He also found that he enjoyed it.

After he had taken care of the pesky hobbit he returned to find the Matriarch and the rest of the village waiting for him. He suddenly remembered that he'd taken the ring off and before he could react he was seized by the villagers who held him before their leader.

The Matriarch stood before him with a cold, unwavering gaze. "We now know what you've done. We have figured out that it has been you who has been following people and terrorizing them this past year. What's worse, is that you have killed one of your own. Murderer!"

"Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!" yelled the crowd angrily.

She glared down at him. "Since you have chosen at act like an animal, you shall be hunted down like an animal, and an animal you shall be to us! Hence forth, you are cast out from us!"

They threw him out and chased him into the wilds towards the mountains. Sméagol fled as fast as he could and climbed high up into the Misty Mountains and there learned to survive the bitter cold, the knowing hunger, and the harsh sunlight. It was not long before he came down with a sickness that nearly killed him. Somehow he survived, but it had taken its toll on him, leaving him with a wheezing cough that sounded like, _go-llum, gollum_.

As time marched on he no longer had a love for the sun and its warmth; took no joy in the sound of bird-song. He cursed the sun and the moon for their light. Killed the birds to end their songs.

Finally, two years after he was cast out, he crawled up even higher into the mountains to escape from the past with all of its memories. Sméagol took one last look upon the world before forsaking it for the darkness.

Try though he did, Sméagol could not escape from everything. Mother still was ever present with him, telling him to protect the precious gift she'd given him. The Gollum part of himself started to assert itself more and came to represent Father in many ways. He craved the ring, wanting only for himself. Gollum spoke harshly to Sméagol and beat him down over the centuries until Sméagol was nothing more than a faded memory from a world that could not survive in the darkness.

Sméagol would live the next five hundred years under the influence of Gollum, who represented the very person he hated the most in all of Middle Earth. That is, until a small hobbit would happen upon the poor creature and take that which was most precious to him.

Frodo leaned back in his chair and absentmindedly rubbed the scarred stub that used to be his ring finger. There was more to the story of course, things that still needed to be told. But he was sure it could wait for another day.

Frodo looked outside and saw that it was not late into the afternoon. It would not do to waste such a beautiful day such as this. He stood, stretching his sore muscles and grabbed a dark brown jacket and scarf and headed out into the light of day.

 **Part Two**

"I just don't understand it, Mr. Frodo. Why write anything 'bout the 'ol villain?" Sam sat across from Frodo who was staring into the fire in the hearth. "I know how you feel about him, Sam," said Frodo quietly, fiddling with his pipe. "But it's still a story that needs to be told."

Sam sighed heavily. "I reckon you're right, Mr. Frodo. Reading over what you have so far did make me feel a bit sad for him."

Frodo smiled, but remained silent. Both of them let the comfortable silence hang between them for a time as they enjoyed the fire. It's warmth on these chilly November nights was quite welcome.

Sam suddenly started chuckling to himself and Frodo eyed his lifelong friend, smiling. "What's gotten into you?" he asked curiously.

"I was sittin' here thinking about our time in Ithilien when Sméagol brought us those coneys," Sam replied, laughing. "The look on his face when I said we needed taters made my day, it did."

Frodo joined Sam in laughing as he thought back to that day.

"'What's taters, precious? What's taters? eh?" said Sam, doing his best impersonation of Sméagol.

Frodo laughed harder as he said, "Then you had to spell it out for him, the poor fellow."

Sam settled and he took on a serious tone. "You know, Mr. Frodo, I could write a proper song about tater. Have the whole Shire singing it I would," he said.

"Sam, stop," said Frodo breathlessly through belly laughs. He wiped the tears from his eyes as he laughed and said, "Only you, my dear Sam, could think of making a song about potatoes."

Sam's seriousness vanished and he smiled.

They both fell back into silence and Frodo could feel the weight of those memories from their time with Sméagol. So much loss in one person's life. Such a life of loneness.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo snapped out of his musings and smiled sadly at his friend. "I'm sorry, Sam. Even after all this time my mind still goes back, replaying every moment."

Sam nodded in understanding. "Me too, Mr. Frodo. Me too."

The next morning Frodo woke up early and wandered the halls of Bag End until he stood in front of the writing room. He was tired, so very tired of it all, but he has to write. He walked in and got the fire going, prepared the quill and inkwell, then sat down to write.

In the year 2941 of the Third Age Thorin Oakenshield started on his quest to reclaim his homeland. With him went a Hobbit who was to be his burglar, his name was Bilbo Baggins.

Bilbo happened upon the One Ring in the darkness of the tunnels in the Misty Mountains, and there he found Gollum. Five centuries had passed since he had seen the light of day or any other creature other than goblins and a flicker of a long lost memory came to him when he saw Bilbo. A glimmer of happier times that was quickly suppressed.

The Ring had twisted every part of his mind; using Sméagol's memories of Mother to manipulate, and Gollum's likeness to Father in his greed to control. It drove him into the depths of depravity that he would never fully escape from.

When Bilbo managed to escape, Gollum knew he would have to venture out into the world he'd sworn off so very long ago. It took three years before the whispers of Mother and Father drove him back out into the world in search of the Ring.

Over the course of many years Gollum searched in vain for it, ever haunted by Mother and Father. It would be seventy-four years before he would again finally find the Ring, now carried by Bilbo's nephew, Frodo.

Mother constantly accused Gollum of losing her precious gift in his time of wandering and he grew bitter. When he finally had the chance to claim the Ring once more, he failed. He was caught by Frodo and his companion, Sam. It was then that something unexpected happened.

Frodo had shown him mercy when he had removed the elven rope from around his neck. Gollum found that this hobbit reminded him of Mother at her best; kind, gentle, and soft spoken. Since 'Mother' wasn't the correct term he chose to call him 'Master'.

The other hobbit, though, reminded him of Father; rough, harsh, and mean.

While crossing the Dead Marshes Master had called him by his true name, Sméagol. The sound of his proper name opened up a well of memories that had long been suppressed, and he remembered for the first time in many centuries the happier days of his life. From that point on he began to feel a shift within himself.

As they made their way to the Morgal Vale Gollum tried to regain the control, just like Father had. But Sméagol found an inner strength he didn't know he had and overthrew that part of himself for a time.

After Master had seemingly betrayed him he found himself once again at the mercy of Gollum-Father. He plotted to kill Master, and this time he would succeed. He'd make sure of it.

To his great frustration Master escaped Shelob and managed defeat him once more, throwing him over the side of a cliff. Gollum found a foot hold and started the long climb back up. When he reached the top he saw Shelob dragging her wounded-self deep into the tunnels and knew that he would need to hurry to catch Master.

He at last found them at the foot of the Cracks of Doom. Once more he was defeated, this time by Sam who had rejoined Frodo. Once inside however, as Sam looked on in horror as Frodo claimed the Ring for his own Gollum smashed a rock over the back of Sam's head and attacked Master. He would finally reclaim what was his.

With a deep madness reminiscent of Father in his eyes, he wrestled with Master on the edge of Doom. He was finally able to grab hold of his finger, and in one quick motion, bit it off. Gollum removed the bloody finger and held the Ring before his eyes, a tear slowly steaking down his face. He'd done it! He'd reclaimed Mother's gift to him. "Precious! Precious! Precious!" he cried as he danced about in joy. In his joy he lost his footing and tumbled into the fires.

One could reason that as he fell there was some semblance of peace that filled him for the first time in his long and lonely life. Reunited with his last connection to his mother he might have felt a sense of accomplishment. Perhaps both Mother and Father would be proud of him.

Frodo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. It was done. He knew that no matter what he wrote down people would always see Sméagol from a certain point of view. Frodo knew the sad truth, though. He knew that if Sméagol had not been there the world would have fallen into darkness. If it had not been for a simple, yet precious gift all those centuries ago, the world as they knew it would have ended.

Frodo's eyes welled up before he broke down and wept. He cried the tears that Sméagol never would. He hoped that whatever powers ruled Middle Earth would take pity on Sméagol and let him find real peace, whatever that should look like.

Frodo got up and closed the book and decided to take a walk, but he only made it as far as the bench outside Bag End. As he sat he felt a great weariness and sorrow sweep over him and he closed his eyes to rest.

 _He was standing in a large field of emerald green grass, and bright sapphire skies; where the sun always shown and the warm breezes carried every care away. He look around him and saw vibrant life all around him and he thought that this must be Valinor._

 _Frodo heard laughter behind him and he turned around to see two figures upon a hill a short distance away from where he stood. He walked closer, the two figures taking no notice of his presence there._

 _As he neared them he could see that they were both hobbits, a female and a male child, roughly thirteen. The female was beautiful, with light brown hair that fell in waves about her shoulders, and grey-green eyes. A bright smile touched her lips and a laugh like pure crystal._

 _The boy was the likeness of his mother, with slightly dark hair that fell to his shoulders and the same grey-green eyes. The boy danced upon the grass with wild abandon looking very much like the hobbit he used to be._

 _As the warm breeze brushed Frodo's face, the boy stopped for a moment and looked directly at Frodo. Smiling, he said, "Sméagol is free!"_


End file.
